Page 2 of Ellen Found

THE NPRR WAS late that morning, and she didn’t know Bozeman. She asked an older man at the depot for directions. “Four blocks over, miss,” he said, and tipped his hat. Painfully aware she was late, Ellie ran the four blocks, then down the hall to find Harry W. Child on door eight. She hurried inside.

A pretty lady waited, dressed impeccably, her polished shoes peeking out from under a stylish skirt. Two men sat there, one an older fellow, deep into Bozeman’s Avant-Courier . The younger man carried a clipboard and an officious air—the interviewer, obviously.

“Miss Found?”

“Yes, sir.”

He scrutinized his timepiece, and her heart sank. I snuck out of Butte, and I don’t know Bozeman , she wanted to say.

“Glad you could make it,” he said.

The other candidate already looked smug. Ellie took a deep breath. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

“Please wait outside,” he said to the lady. “This won’t take long.” He barely glanced at Ellie. “Will it?”

Ellie knew he had already decided. She thought of her nine years working in Butte since the age of ten, with fifteen dollars, a moldy cat, and wariness to show for it. She had nothing to lose. “All I ask for is a chance.” Ellie waited for the older man to leave, but he gave her a glance that took in everything from her bare head—a hat on her wages? Hah!—to broken shoes.

Ellie considered. She knew the job wasn’t hers. I will use this interview as a lesson for future interviews , she thought. No one said she could, but she sat down.

“Found is an odd name,” the interviewer commented.

“My mother was a lady of the line in Butte, who died at my birth,” she said, her head high. “Her name was Ellen, last name unknown. The nuns found me, so that’s my name.”

The interviewer made a note on his clipboard. “This isn’t much of a work history,” he said, glaring at the two jobs she’d listed. Calmly, Ellie told him about working for free in the Copper King Mansion, starting when she was ten, then kitchen work in the Mercury Street Café.

“No such place, and I know Butte,” the interviewer said. Newspaper Man coughed discreetly.

“It’s there and it’s not a good place,” Ellie said. “When I saw your advertisement, I knew I could do better.” This wasn’t getting her the job, but the chair was comfortable.

“You cook?”

“Yes.”

Plato started to purr. The man stared at the carpetbag. “There’s a cat in there?”

“Yes.”

“No cats in Yellowstone Park,” he said in triumph. “Good day, Miss, uh, Found.”

Not so fast, mister . “Plato is a mouse killer,” she said firmly. “Don’t tell me Yellowstone Park has no mice.” She folded her hands in her lap, needing a chance where there was none, knowing that every deck of cards in the universe was stacked against her when all she wanted was to work in a safe place.

The man frowned at his clipboard. His expression neutral, Newspaper Man leaned over, wrote something, and raised one eyebrow.

The interviewer nodded as his face reddened. “Maybe we need a cat.”

Ellie glanced at the older man, almost encouraged. She decided to act as though she had the job, and not that lady with the wonderful shoes. “Plato is amazing. Mice walk around Butte in fear and trembling.”

The older man smiled, so she plunged on. “When he’s full, he leaves me the extras.” She didn’t add there were hungry days when she almost considered Plato’s generosity.

“Plato?” the interviewer asked. “Where would you have heard of Plato?”

The older man frowned, whether at her presumption or the interviewer’s rudeness, she could not tell. “I dusted the books in the Copper King’s library,” she explained. “I opened The Republic and liked the name.”

The interviewer looked toward the door, maybe wishing she would take the hint and leave. Newspaper Man left the room, and Ellie heard low voices. Clearly, he was giving the lady outside the good news of her hire. He returned and nodded to the interviewer.

The interviewer stared at his clipboard. “It won’t work. You’re too pretty. The crew will hang around the kitchen, and time is of the essence on this project. Sorry.”

Ellie stared, amazed and a little flattered. Why not set the man straight? “You want my cat, but I won’t do?” She took Plato out of the carpetbag and set him down. “I dare you to take two steps toward me. No man is going to hang around any kitchen where I work.”

Plato flattened his ears and hissed when the interviewer stepped forward. Her hero crouched low, his eyes never leaving his prey. Plato’s hindquarters twitched and his tail lashed back and forth. The interviewer leaped back, holding his clipboard in front of him.

“Stop, Plato!” She rubbed behind Plato’s ears in that favorite spot and returned him to her carpetbag. “Let’s go.” She stood up.

“Not so fast, Miss Found.” Newspaper Man glared at the interviewer. “We’re hiring her, and Plato too.”

“ Me ? You are?”

“Heavens, yes,” the man said. “I’m Harry Child, president of the Yellowstone Park Company, and you’re working for me.”

“But that lady . . .”

“I sent her on her way.” He turned to the interviewer, who stared back. “Hopkins, not one job seeker out of ten will tell you the truth. That’s all we have heard from Miss Found.”

“But . . .”

“That other woman? Don’t you know when someone’s lying?” He turned to Ellie. “Well? Are you in?”

Ellie nodded, too shy to speak.

“Room, board, and thirty dollars a month.” He laughed. “And five dollars for Plato, plus kitchen scraps. Welcome to Yellowstone Park.”

Ellie signed a contract for the winter. “Sir, how long is a season?”

“As long as I say it is,” he replied. “Now, head over to Hotel Bozeman. ”

“We can stay in the depot,” Ellie assured him. “I wouldn’t want to ...” Spend any more of my money , she thought. Suppose a season is really short?

Mr. Child held up one finger. “Miss Found, let us come to a right understanding. All my hires stay there.” He glanced at the interviewer, who seemed to wilt before Ellie’s eyes. “Hopkins, I’ll handle this.” The door closed quietly.

Mr. Child handed her a voucher for a room and meals. “The Bozeman is around the corner. Settle in and be ready for an early start.”

She hesitated; he noticed. “Yes?”

“Why didn’t you hire that lady? She was dressed so nicely, and I know what I look like.” Might as well be honest. “I told Mr. Hopkins I was a found baby and he wasn’t impressed.”

“Mr. Hopkins is a new hire, too, and he lacks experience.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ve eaten in a few Mercury Street Cafés. I hire determined people wanting to do better.” He touched the contract. “I saw your determination. ”

She nodded, too overcome to speak because he was right.

“Alice Knight sings at the Bonanza Casino. I, uh, planted her to teach Hopkins something about hiring people.” He chuckled. “And maybe learn to look inside people, and not just at nice clothes.”

“I wish I had better clothes,” Ellie admitted.

“No worry. Mrs. Child is creating uniforms for the Old Faithful Inn staff. She’ll have something soon. It comes with the job.”

“All I want is a chance.”

“You have one.”